


The Devil In I

by GoodGollyMissYollie (Yollie183)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Religious Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5689642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yollie183/pseuds/GoodGollyMissYollie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, okay then.” Ben wasn’t sure what to say next. He looked down at the counter, equal parts thankful and resentful that he was the only customer here at this ungodly hour.<br/>“So text me, sometime, yeah?”<br/>Ben nodded.<br/>“Black coffee again?”<br/>“Yes, please.”</p><p>***ON HIATUS***</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil In I

**Author's Note:**

> So... I have been struggling to get this out since I saw the movie three weeks ago. Writer's block is a bitch.
> 
> Anyway, this started out as a silly coffee shop au fluff piece, then became something... else. 
> 
> It might be weeks between updates, and for that I apologize. 
> 
> Title and chapter title from The Devil In I by Slipknot.

“May I take your order?”

Ben’s eyes jerked reflexively upward, to the redheaded barista.

“I... uh... just a black coffee, please,” he stuttered.

“Sure thing,” the barista smiled, but something in his eyes remained cold. “Your name?”

“Ben,” Ben mumbled.

“Ren?”

“No, uh... Ben. With a B.”

The barista smiled again, with more warmth this time.

Ben paid and stood to one side as the barista wrote his name on a cup with black sharpie. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out, frowning at the caller ID. He didn’t answer, just kept scowling at the vibrating phone lying on his palm until it stopped and the screen went black.

“Ben?” a female voice called and Ben moved to collect his coffee.

He walked down the sidewalk, taking sips of the scalding liquid and watched the steam swirl in the icy air. It wasn’t until he’d finished the coffee, about to throw away the cup, that he noticed the number written below his name.

555-2187, scrawled messily in coffee-smudged black sharpie.

Ben paused, thoughts going back to the redheaded barista. Was this a prank? The barista was young, good-looking. He even had an accent, although Ben couldn’t place it. It had to be a prank. No guy like that gave his number to a screw-up like Ben.

Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to throw away the cup.

He walked the four blocks back to the off-campus apartment he shared with two other students. When he reached the relative comfort of his bedroom, he placed the cup on the windowsill. He picked up his guitar, lightly running his fingertips over the strings. There was no music in his mind today, only words running like unlucky black cats through his thoughts.

He thought for a moment about getting out his notebook, writing down the words, but he didn’t. Poetry was stupid anyway.

 

Two days later, Ben walked into the First Order coffee shop, saw the redheaded barista and nearly walked back out again, but the redhead had already seen him. Something – not quite a smile –tugged at the corners of his lips.

With a deep breath, Ben stepped toward the counter.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Ben mumbled. There was a moment of awkward silence, where Ben fidgeted with the strap of his messenger bag.

“Did you throw away the cup?”

Ben shook his head, choosing not to pretend he didn’t know what the redhead was talking about.

“Not into guys, then?” The redhead asked.

“I... no, I just... I just thought it might be a prank,” Ben stuttered. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks and ducked his head.

The redhead grinned. “Wasn’t a prank.”

“Oh, okay then.” Ben wasn’t sure what to say next. He looked down at the counter, equal parts thankful and resentful that he was the only customer here at this ungodly hour.

“So text me, sometime, yeah?”

Ben nodded.

“Black coffee again?”

“Yes, please.”

“Ben, right?”

“Yeah.”

 

After getting his coffee, Ben stood for a long moment on the sidewalk, just out of sight of the First Order. He sipped at the scalding liquid, cursing himself for not even having the guts to ask for the redhead’s name. He sighed, took a last swallow of coffee and threw the cup into the nearest trashcan. He then walked back home, earphones in, head down.

His roommates, Poe and Finn, were in the living room when he opened the front door. They sat on either end of the couch, pointedly not looking at each other. Ben sighed. It had been like this for three weeks now, ever since Poe had let slip that he was bisexual, after kissing a guy at a party.

Poe chalked Finn’s reaction up to homophobia, but Ben knew better. Finn was confused about his less-than-platonic feelings for Poe, and now that he realized his feelings may have been returned, but apparently wasn’t, he was scared, jealous and angry.

It was a minefield of miscommunication, and Ben sometimes wanted to lock them in a room together until they could stop being so obtuse.

Instead, he greeted them in his usual clipped manner and took refuge in his room. He lifted the cup from his windowsill, running his fingertips over the sharpie’d digits. Then, taking a deep breath, he keyed the number into his phone, realised he didn’t know what name to put it in, and saved it under ‘General Ginger’.

He made himself wait a full hour before pulling his phone closer to compose a text. After a few false starts, he made peace with his inability  to be coy and flirty.

 

To: General Ginger

_Hi. Ben_

Less than a minute later, his phone beeped.

 

From: General Ginger

_Hi, Ben._

Ben bit his lip, tasted blood, typed a reply.

 

To: General Ginger

_I never got your name._

 

From: General Ginger

_I never gave it._

 

From: General Ginger

_Besides, it’s not something I’ll give for free._

 

Ben bit down harder on his lip, and almost considered asking Poe for help.

 

To: General Ginger

_What does it cost?_

 

From: General Ginger

_A secret._

 

Ben sighed. This was why he settled for one night stands. There were no awkward text flirtations to navigate.

 

To: General Ginger

_I’ve thought about kissing you._

 

After hitting send, Ben wished he could take it back. He pressed his face against the wall. Pulled his head back and let his forehead thunk painfully against the peeling paint. His phone beeped again.

 

From: General Ginger

_How romantic ;)_

 

From: General Ginger

_My name is Hux._

 

To: General Ginger

_Is that short for something?_

 

From: General Ginger

_It’s my last name. I never use my first._

 

To: Hux

_Hi, Hux. It’s nice to meet you._

 

From: Hux

_Nice to meet you too, Ben._

Ben smiled to himself.

 

 

The following day, after band practise, Ben went to the First Order. It was near midnight, and the place was empty save for Hux, who was leaning against the counter, nose buried in a paperback. He looked up at the jingle of the bell above the door, and smiled.

Ben returned his smile, suppressing the urge to duck his head. He walked up to the counter as Hux folded down the corner of a page and put his book down.

“Hi, Ben.”

“Hi,” Ben mumbled.

“Sit down, I’ll get us coffee.”

Ben nodded, sitting at a table near the counter. He watched as Hux made coffee, looking down at the table as the redhead brought over two mugs and settled in the chair across from him.

“Thanks,” Ben said, reaching for his mug, but Hux grabbed his wrist.

“What the hell happened to your hand?” Hux exclaimed with widened eyes.

Ben looked down at his fingers and noticed they were covered in blood.

“Oh... Guitar strings. I had band practice.”

“Fuck,” Hux didn’t let go of his wrist, instead inspecting his lacerated fingers.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt,” Ben said truthfully.

Hux nodded. “So, you’re in a band?”

“Yeah.”

“And you play guitar?”

“Yes,” Ben nodded, picking up his coffee with the hand not held prisoner by Hux’s cool fingers.

“Are you gonna play me a song sometime?”

“Sure, but it’s gonna cost you.”

Hux raised a pale eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Ben nodded, feeling a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

“What’s the price, then?” Hux asked.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.  
> Comments (also criticism) and kudo's are always much appreciated.


End file.
